Comfort And Joy

Comfort and Joy

The bright tin caught my eye on the grocery aisle—its shiny, red lid seemed to call out, “Pick me! Pick me!” from a full shelf of teas. Its label read “Comfort and Joy,” and honestly, who couldn’t use a little of that?

My mind went quickly to the odd English carol in a minor key, whose only verse I could remember was this:

God rest ye merry, gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our Savior

Was born on Christmas day

To save us all from Satan’s power

When we were gone astray.

O tidings of comfort and joy,

comfort and joy,

O tidings of comfort and joy.

I bought the tea. Like I said, who couldn’t use a little comfort and joy? It makes a good, fragrant cup, and the happy container brightens my shelf too. I’m still puzzling about the slow refrain of “comfort and joy” wrapped in a minor key—but isn’t life like that? Pressures and fears and sorrows and hurts compound, then a slow, deep tide of joy rolls up from a place you didn’t know existed.

Christ our Savior was born for me and for you. In the midst of minor-key life, he is a sure and steady comfort. The powers of this world have been soundly beaten by him, and the lingering wounds we feel from his enemy’s blows are not fatal. Not anymore.

My comfort and joy is in this holy, rolling tide of Christmas—Immanuel, God with us!—this eternity-deep wave of truth and beauty that defaces, surpasses, outshines, and eclipses every minor-key squall of life. So I will sip from my cup of comfort and joy . . . and sing.

The LORD will comfort Israel again and have pity on her ruins. Her desert will blossom like Eden, her barren wilderness like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found there. Songs of thanksgiving will fill the air.

Isaiah 51:3